Bait
by FutureMrsStabler
Summary: Feeling like Holmes is making a mockery of his plans, Lord Blackwood attempts to destroy him by making Watson his next victim.


**Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the 2009 movie, its characters, or plots.**

**AU setting reworking the original ideas of Blackwood's execution and using some dialogue directly taken from other scenes in the movie.**

Holmes stood silently in the back of the room and watched as the body of Lord Blackwood was laid out on the wooden table. Inspector Lestrade looked down at the deceased man with apparent stoicism while Watson lifted the limp wrist.

Watson held his finger over the vein for a moment and then moved his hand to the man's neck. "That," he said determinedly, straightening up, "is the end of Lord Blackwood."

He looked at the inspector and gave a short nod of finality. Lestrade's eyebrows flitted upwards in acknowledgement. Watson turned his gaze to address the officials standing at the other end of the room, also watching.

After an awkward moment of the officials being obviously unsure of their next move, Lestrade nodded to them authoritatively. He and Watson then moved back to allow them to surround the table in preparation of removing the body from the room.

Watson turned back towards Lestrade. "Let me know when the death certificate is completed," the doctor said. "I'll come back to sign it."

"Splendid performance, Lestrade." Holmes' voice seemed to boom in the hushed atmosphere as he stepped up to the pair. He nodded at the inspector with exaggerated humility. "As usual, you are a fine example of policework at its finest. We could only hope to emulate such prowess."

Holmes stared at the inspector, whose face had already twisted back into its accustomed mixture of exasperation and disgust that only his presence was able to create, and then turned his head toward his companion.

"Well, Watson," he said brightly. "I'm quite ravenous. It seems Nanny's breakfast is but a distant memory. Shall we head toward the Royale in hopes of procuring our customary table?"

His eyes twinkled with fond mirth once he finished and waited for the reaction. As expected, Watson's expression turned to affronted disgust at the mere idea of thinking about food after touching a dead body.

Lestrade looked at Holmes like he was a specimen of revulsion and then gave Watson a longsuffering look. The doctor just shook his head, huffing out an impatient breath and turning his back on both of them to walk toward the door.

Holmes watched him in amusement until he disappeared from view and then looked back at the inspector. Lestrade just stared at him.

"Poor bugger," the inspector said. His words were sympathetic towards Watson but his tone was dry. "Don't know how he can live with you…If I were him, **you'd** have been laid out on this table a long time ago."

* * *

Holmes caught up with Watson outside, looking for a hansom . Watson shifted his walking stick to his left hand as a carriage pulled to a stop before them.

"Where to, sir?" the driver asked as he climbed down from his perch.

"Baker Street," Holmes said, before Watson could speak. He walked right past Watson and opened the hansom door without waiting for the driver. He continued speaking as he climbed inside. "221 B."

The driver looked at Watson, obviously offended. Watson sighed and reached into his pocket. He withdrew enough money for two fares plus extra as an apology for his colleague's rudeness without batting an eye. He was well used to it.

"14 Picadilly Square, first, if you please, sir," he said, ignoring the startled expression Holmes gave him at the words.

The hansom driver looked at him and then inside to Holmes suspiciously. But he pocketed the money with an obligatory nod. "Right away, sir." He waited for Watson to climb inside and then shut the door securely.

Watson laid his medical bag on the seat next to him as the carriage began its journey. Holmes raised an eyebrow at him congenially.

"Really, Watson," he said teasingly. "If you aren't in the mood for lunch, you need just say so. There's no reason to waste perfectly good transportation to make your point."

Watson looked at him in irritation. "I have a patient to see, as you **well know**," he said sarcastically, "since you asked me at least twice on the way this morning if I was going to be back in time to see the results of your acidic reaction experiment." He raised his own eyebrow, making sure that there was no sting in his words. "And the answer hasn't changed. I am **not **interested in watching you destroy yet another piece of furniture, thank you very much."

Holmes just grinned cheekily. "Oh, that's quite alright," he replied brightly. "I'm **sure** it can be replicated at a time when you are available later this evening."

The doctor gave him a warning glare.

"I'm meeting Mary before I return," he replied. "Try to contain your enthusiasm to your **own** possessions, won't you, Holmes?"

Holmes only answer was a chuckle.

* * *

The little girl flinched when Watson removed his stethoscope and put to his ears. She shrank back towards her mother, sitting beside her on the settee.

The action startled him. He looked at the girl with a friendly expression, sensing he had somehow scared her. Her mother looked at Watson with a reassuring smile and smoothed the child's hair.

"Don't be afraid, Love," the woman said soothingly. "We see Doctor Watson all the time. He's a very nice man, you know that."

The girl, a feisty six-year old who usually chattered Watson's ear off every time he saw her, looked at her mother with rebellious eyes. "I'm not afraid!" she insisted. She looked back at Watson with such a wounded expression that he almost laughed. "That thing is **cold**!"

Watson did laugh then, along with the mother. "You are very right about that, Miss Julia," he said respectfully to the child. "I'm sorry about that. Don't you worry, I'll fix it."

As the girl watched his movements with fixed attention, he lifted the bell of the stethoscope between his fingers and brought it to his mouth. He breathed hot air onto it several times and then put it against her arm.

The movement obviously surprised her and her eyes widened when she felt the warmth on her skin. Her mouth opened in an enthusiastic gasp.

"Does that feel better?" he asked.

"It's not cold!" she exclaimed. She turned towards her mother excitedly. "Mummy, feel it! It's not cold!"

Her mother indulged her by leaning over to touch the bell and smiling approvingly. Watson took the bell back and breathed on it again before tucking it up under her shirt. Julia began talking a mile a minute and he smiled affectionately as he listened.

"Julia!" her mother scolded lightly, trying to interrupt her daughter who was telling Watson all about her new doll, the color of its dress, and the tea party she was planning to have with it. "You must not talk. Doctor Watson is trying to hear your heartbeat. "

Watson shook his head good-naturedly, seeing the expression of heartbreak on Julia's face. "It's alright, Mrs. Simpson," he assured kindly. "I have no problem hearing. It sounds just fine. It looks like the medicine is working. There's hardly any congestion anymore." He removed the stethoscope from his ears. "But make sure you finish the rest of the medicine and keep her from getting too energetic just yet."

Mrs. Simpson nodded, giving him a gracious smile. He looked at the girl again and began asking her earnest questions about her tea party, much to her delight.

* * *

It was nearing dusk when Watson left the Simpson residence and began walking toward his fiancee's residence. His stomach growled as the wind whipped up into his face. His teeth chattered and he quickened his pace, looking forward to the hot tea he would be having with Mary.

He was just rounding the first corner when a voice suddenly rang out behind him.

"Doctor! Doctor! Wait!"

Startled, he turned around. A lanky youth was running towards him, face red from the cold and waving an arm trying to get Watson's attention.

The boy came to a skidding halt in front of him. Watson had never seen him before. Panting, he gestured towards Watson's medical bag and tried to speak but was too winded for Watson to understand what he was saying. Watson reached out to steady him with hands on his shoulders.

"Slow down, lad," he said kindly. "Calm down. What's the matter? Are you hurt?"

"Not…me," the boy wheezed, still catching his breath. "My…brother. He fell. Think…his arm is broken. He's really…hurt, Doctor."

Watson nodded reassuringly and hefted his bag more securely in his hand. "Show me where he is," he said, already heading back in direction the boy had come from. "We'll get him fixed up, don't worry."

"Thank you," the boy said, pointing toward the nearby alleyway. "He's just back here."

The boy began running towards it. He was faster than Watson had expected, disappearing down the side road before he could catch up to him. By the time he got to the alley that the boy had gone down, there was no one in sight.

"Hello?" he called, confused. He looked around for the boy. "Are you here, lad?" No reply. Watson walked further into the ally with a concerned expression. "Is there anyone here?"

"Of course there is, Doctor Watson."

The voice came from behind him. As soon as he heard it, Watson froze in shock. He recognized it…it was impossible **not** to recognize that distinctive voice. But he had to be making a mistake. He **had** to be. There was no way he was hearing that voice. No way in the world.

Because the owner of that voice had been executed the night before. He had held the man's dead flesh in his own fingers just that morning.

Watson whipped around and connected solidly with the form of another person. He jumped back in surprise only to find himself staring directly into the face of Lord Blackwood. Very familiar…and very much alive. Astonishment made him physically immobile for a moment

It was all the opening that was needed. Something hard slammed into the back of his head and his vision seemed to explode. He toppled to the ground, seeing stars, and heard a thundering sound in the distance. Then his mind went black.

* * *

A hansom slid to a stop at the entrance to the alleyway, effectively blocking it from view of the street beside it. Three men clambered out of it.

Blackwood stepped back from where the prone figure lay splayed on the cobblestones. He nodded to the two men standing on the other side of the unconscious figure. The men each grabbed an end and hefted Watson up between them. They quickly began carrying him towards where the three others stood by the waiting carriage.

Across the alley, hidden in the shelter of a packing crate, the young boy who had dispatched the doctor stood watching the scene with horrified eyes. He clamped a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from yelling out.

The last man mounted into the carriage and it began flying back toward the street. The boy ducked further into the shadow of the crate when the hansom hurtled past him. He watched it disappear around the corner and let out a breath.

Swallowing hard, he slowly went over to the battered medical bag that had been trampled over in the fray. He lifted the soft brown leather and shakily opened it. His heart was hammering , but his conscience wouldn't let him give it up.

He rifled carefully through the various items inside, lifting up papers gingerly and looking through them for some way to identify the doctor. His hand stilled on a telegram folded inside a lined pocket of the bag.

**John H. Watson, M.D. **

**221 B Baker Street**

The boy bit his lip. He tucked the bag into one arm and began running toward the street.

* * *

Holmes stared wildly into the flame of the burner perched on the table. His eyes reflected the spark as he watched the torn swath of fabric ignite slowly. The shirt it had come from was dirty, caked with some kind of unidentifiable residue that (he hoped) would react wonderfully with the chemical he was trying to test. He had found the shirt stuffed inside Watson's wardrobe, but figured it was one of his even though he didn't remember having worn it recently. There was no **way** Watson would knowingly allow one of **his **shirts to sit in a drawer any other way but meticulously folded.

He let the flame singe the fabric for a few moments and then reached for the glass container holding his chemical. He began tipping the contents out.

A second before the liquid chemical came out there was a loud knock on the sitting room door. He jumped, his concentration broken, and quickly tilted the container back upright before anything could escape.

"I am in the middle of an important procedure, Mrs. Hudson!" he yelled in annoyance. "Kindly refrain from-"

"Miss Mary Morstan is here, Mr. Holmes." As per usual, Mrs. Hudson paid no heed to the ire of her petulant tenant and opened the door anyway. She stared disapprovingly into the dark room but made no move to come inside. "She wishes to speak with you. "

"I have no interest-" Holmes began to retort.

Apparently, Watson's fiancée-to-be had been spending too much time in the presence of both he and Mrs. Hudson, for she reacted to Holmes' declaration the same way that the both of them tended to. She brashly made her way right past the landlady and into the sitting room as if he hadn't even spoken.

Holmes sighed in exasperation and straightened. "Won't you come in?" he asked sarcastically.

Mary leveled an all-too patient stare in his direction. "Dare I inquire as to how you have been keeping John so occupied that he failed to join me for tea this evening?"

He glowered at her. "I resent that you would automatically assume that Watson's absence to **your **meeting would be of **my** doing," he said testily. He gestured to his experiment. "As you can see, I have been attempting to further the efforts of scientific discovery, something that he sadly has no interest in, as he so politely informed me this afternoon."

The look he received was akin to something he was sure Mary gave her charges when they told her a particularly wild fib. He held up his hands quickly before she could say anything.

"Believe me or don't, as you will," he insisted. "But I can assure you I have not seen Watson since we parted ways earlier. Whatever excuse he may give does not come from me." His eyes twinkled. "**This** time at least."

She raised her eyebrows suspiciously for a moment but then her face broke into a smile. He did his best not to crack into a smile too.

"I am sure he just got held up at his appointment," he said. "He does have a way of letting the children manipulate him."

A giggle escaped her and she brought her hand to her mouth. She finally conceded.

"Well, then, I apologize," she said. "Please do inform him when he returns that I missed him." She looked hopeful for a moment. "If he should arrive here, would you be so kind as to ask him to contact me so that we may reschedule?"

Holmes gave her a resigned nod that was exaggerated. "If I must," he said reluctantly.

She could see right through his theatrics and it made her grin again. He finally allowed himself a good-humored smile back at her. She thanked him before leaving.

* * *

The first thing Watson felt when awareness came to him was that his skull had been split in half. The light against his eyes was excruciating and he squeezed them shut immediately, trying to fight the sensation of wanting to vomit. It took him a few moments of deep breaths for it to stop.

He was sitting propped against something solid. He opened his eyes to unfamiliar grey walls. His face crinkled in confusion and it immediately made his head throb. He groaned and shut his eyes again, trying to piece together the situation.

He remembered running after a boy seeking his help...he must have tripped. He could only imagine how hard he had to have fallen on the ground for his head to feel the way it did. But he didn't feel the freezing cold of the outside air. That had to mean that someone had found him and brought him inside. He flushed with embarrassment, hoping that it wasn't someone he had seen as a patient. That would do **wonders** for his professional image-

His thoughts abruptly disappeared when he tried to bring his hands against his forehead. His eyes popped open fast and his heart began to race. He twisted his head to look over his shoulder, awkwardly trying to move his elbows and he gulped when he got a glimpse of his hands. They were tied together behind his back.

"What-?" he gaped in astonishment.

Instinct immediately made him move to get up from the floor and he felt the resistance tugging at his ankles at once. They were also tightly bound, a length of rope leading from them to what looked like a metal pipe.

His mind whirled, but he forced himself to focus. He couldn't do anything until he got himself free. He would figure everything else out once he could move.

He began wiggling around. He knew it wasn't the most dignified approach, and he was sure Holmes would have a better one when he found out, but it was the only way he could think of to look for any kind of looseness in the knots.

"Good to see you awake."

Watson jumped and his head whipped up. For the second time, he stared right into the eyes of Lord Blackwood.

The man stood in the open doorway with folded arms. His gaze was cool and calculating.

A flare of anger surged through Watson's veins. He used the cold bitter feeling of fear that he hadn't been able to suppress upon first realizing he was restrained as fuel to ignite him.

"Did Hell end up being too hot for you?" he snarled. "Decide to come back for a little post-mortem party?"

Blackwood said nothing. He came further inside towards Watson with slow, sure steps. Watson's fierce glare never wavered as Blackwood came right up in front of him. The man stood still, smirking for a moment.

Then without warning his arm whipped out from behind his back and a familiar blade was thrust against Watson's neck. The doctor froze, staring down at his own sword. He knew firsthand exactly how little pressure it would take to cut his throat open like a gutted fish. It was less than comforting.

"Nifty little contraption you have here," Blackwood taunted slyly. He brought the base of Watson's walking stick out from behind his back with his free hand, the sword remaining firmly in place. "Very stylish."

In his peripheral vision Watson saw others coming into the room. But he only raised his eyes from the sword to look daringly up at Blackwood again.

"I'll be glad to show it to you up close," he growled, unable to help himself.

The pressure increased against his throat and Watson felt a sharp prick. He swallowed. Blackwood withdrew the blade, crouching down to be at his eye level while holding the sword out behind him. Watson sneered at him. Then he allowed his eyes to roam up towards the other three men who had silently come to circle behind Blackwood. One of them took the sword from the man's hand.

Quicker than he could blink, his head was snapped back against the wall with one of Blackwood's hands wrapped in an iron grip around his throat. He choked and strained to draw a breath. Panic began to set in as his vision began to dim.

"The master will miss his loyal dog," Blackwood hissed darkly. His face was set in stone, as if he had no feeling at all. "But first, he will see how his dog will **beg**."

* * *

It had taken a few minutes after Mary Morstan had made her exit for Holmes to get his concentration back. Fully focused once more, he distributed the chemical and stood crouched at eye level with the table, watching the fabric with bated breath.

"Any moment now, Gladstone," he said in a hushed voice, his eyes sliding over to where the dog sat by the bookshelf watching him. He quickly reverted them back to his experiment with anticipation. "A few more seconds-"

A sudden thunderous pounding of footsteps on the stairs made the table shake with vibration. The glass chemical container toppled over, spilling the rest of the liquid all over the fabric and the table top. Holmes cried out angrily and leapt quickly out of the way as it dribbled over the edge.

"Blast it!" he yelled. He whirled around, preparing to tear apart whomever had the misfortune of causing the disturbance. "Of all the-"

"**Mr. Holmes!**"

The sound of Mrs. Hudson's scream made his hair stand on end. He knew the tones of the landlady's voice well. Although he often belittled and mocked, he knew which ones were important.

And that one meant something was seriously wrong.

All thoughts of the experiment vanished from his mind. Holmes hurried to the door and threw it open. He almost collided with the lady as she was rushing toward him in a panic.

"What's the matter, Mrs. Hudson?" he asked.

Before she said anything, his eyes zeroed in on the stranger standing at the bottom of the staircase and his heart skipped a beat. It was an ordinary youth wearing common clothing. There was nothing amiss about him.

Except that he was holding the badly battered form of Watson's medical bag.

Holmes flew past the distraught woman and took the stairs two at a time. "What happened?" he asked urgently. "Where is Watson?"

His mind was already running through numerous possibilities and the fastest way to get to his friend. _An accident, a fall, a broken bone…_

The boy looked like he was about to start crying. "I didn't know what they were going to do, Mister," he wailed. "Honest to God, I didn't. The man just told me to get the doctor into the alley…he gave me two whole crowns! I swear I didn't know they were going to do it!"

Holmes barely made out what he was saying. Once he comprehended it, his heart began to speed up. But when he tried to get the boy to elaborate, all he could get out of him was wails of apology and nonsense. Growing increasingly frustrated, the detective reached forward and snatched him hard by both shoulders.

"Boy!" he yelled, shaking him. As expected, the boy was shocked into silence and Holmes looked him in the eyes. "Get a hold of yourself and speak clearly. You need to tell me exactly what happened. **Now**."

Seeing the fright in the boy's eyes, Holmes loosened his grip and then stepped back. Mrs. Hudson had joined them by that point. He saw the boy look at her anxiously and assumed she gave him a reassuring look, because he appeared to relax slightly before speaking.

Holmes' stomach clenched as the boy told him about a man approaching him on the street and enticing him with the money. He'd pointing out the approaching figure of Watson and said all that the boy had to do was make up a story about someone being hurt in the alley.

"I knew it was wrong," the boy said guiltily, looking at the floor in shame. "But I really wanted the money and I thought it was some kind of practical joke…"

The tension in Holmes' stomach had become a solid rock by that point. He wasn't even listening to the boy speak anymore. As soon as he'd heard the description of the man that had instructed the boy, he'd known that it wasn't a coincidence.

"By the gods," he swore softly. His hands had clenched into fists so tight that his knuckles were whitening.

Panic and rage warred for control of his mind. He inhaled deeply and forced himself to detach his thoughts so that he could concentrate on action.

It didn't matter that the situation should have been impossible. All that mattered was that Watson was in real trouble. And despite the unreality of it, he knew who was responsible for it.

Mrs. Hudson looked pale. She put a hand up to her mouth and looked at Holmes with frightened eyes. "Dear Lord," she said, anguished. "Oh, Mr. Holmes…"

He felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for her but pushed it aside fast. He grabbed his coat quickly, not caring that his braces were hanging loosely unfastened and his shirt was partly unbuttoned. The front door was standing wide open as if someone had burst through it, which he knew the boy most likely had done.

"Mrs. Hudson, call a cab for the lad to take him home safely," he said brusquely. He strode toward the door as he spoke. "Lock the doors and don't go outside for any reason until I return."

He paused then to turn back toward the boy and looked him squarely in the eye. He could see that the boy was barely holding onto his composure.

"You did the right thing coming here," he said as reassuringly as he could. "I know the doctor will be much obliged to you when he gets back." He held his hand out toward the boy awkwardly but emphasized his next words. "I most certainly am. For that I hold you in highest esteem. From this moment on, you are counted as a friend welcome here at anytime."

The youth reached out to grasp his hand, looking slightly stunned. But his expression lightened.

Constable Clark abruptly appeared in the foyer as he turned back toward the door. The man wore a frenzied look in his eye.

"Mr. Holmes," he began pressingly.

"-Blackwood's body is gone from the morgue." Holmes finished the man's thought grimly and received an astonished look in return.

"How did you-" Clark started to say.

Holmes shook his head quickly, cutting him off again. "There's no time to explain," he rushed out. "Get Inspector Lestrade's assistance immediately. We have to move **now**."

Without waiting for a reply, Holmes took off running down the street toward the direction of the alley the boy had spoken of. Clark hurried back to the maria he had arrived in.

* * *

To his credit, Constable Clark was good to his duty. A police carriage turned into the alleyway within fifteen minutes of Holmes arrival at the spot the boy had told him the abduction had taken place. Inspector Lestrade joined him where he was standing still, looking down at the cobblestones with an unblinking stare.

When the inspector followed his eyeline he saw a small trickle of blood smattered there.

Lestrade paused for a moment before speaking. "I've got five men with me," he said quietly. "A backup of officers is on the way as well." For a small moment, Lestrade thought he saw an expression of anguish on Holmes' face, but when the detective lifted his eyes the usual coolness returned. "You think this ties in with Blackwood's disappearance."

It wasn't a question and he didn't word it as such. Holmes gestured at the ground near where they stood.

"The wheels of the carriage were muddied through intentionally to leave a clear path," he said, nodding further down the street. When Lestrade looked in that direction he could easily see the treading. "They purposely provided the track to follow."

Lestrade narrowed his eyes. "It could be a trap," he said, looking at where the path disappeared around the corner that he had just come from.

Holmes' expression was grim. "I know it's a trap," he replied. His lips pressed together in a firm line. "They wantme to pursue them…they **want** me to come for Watson."

He shook his head and swallowed hard. The mask of stoicism faltered again but that time he couldn't hide it.

"They know I'll come for him."

* * *

It was a testament to his state of panic that Holmes rode with the officers without hesitation as they followed the tracks left by the carriage. He stared stonefaced out the window without seeing anything they passed.

He may act arrogant in the face of others but it didn't mean he didn't have doubts. Facts were facts no matter who scrutinized them and the facts about Lord Henry Blackwood were clear. He had killed five victims and almost succeeded killing a sixth. Holmes had no doubt that the man wouldn't think twice about making Watson the seventh.

Lestrade had enough sense not to break the silence but Clark was too amiable of a fellow to follow suit.

"We all know how tough the Doctor is," he said, nodding. "He won't go down without a fight."

The inspector looked at Clark warningly. Holmes knew that the man was just trying to sound optimistic out of sympathy for him because that was the constable's nature. It got under his skin anyway and Holmes had to force himself not to show any reaction. He couldn't afford a moment of broken concentration. There would be plenty of time to let out the emotion later.

Just thinking about it made his fists clench.

God help him…as soon as Watson was safe, Holmes was going to personally see to it that Lord Blackwood wouldn't have another chance to cheat death again.

Even if it meant being the executor himself.

* * *

The tracks stopped next to an abandoned slumhouse on the other end of town. Holmes leapt down from the maria before it even came to a stop, assessing different entrance points and planning his strategy.

Lestrade yanked on his arm before he could take off at full speed. The look Holmes gave him could have burned a hole through him but the inspector didn't flinch.

"Everyone knows our priority," Lestrade said. "And that's getting Watson out of there safely." He gave the detective a knowing look. "But we brought backup for a reason, Holmes. Make sure you don't do anything stupid."

Holmes glared at him snidely and didn't dignify him with a response.

* * *

As much as he wanted to burst full speed ahead of them, Holmes wasn't about to gamble when Watson's life was at stake. He forced himself to remain beside Lestrade and Clark as they silently led the way through the building.

Lestrade signaled for the other officers to split up in the direction of the upstairs. He and Clark went with Holmes as they continued along toward the back of the building.

The wall appeared to have symbols written on it. Lestrade gawked at them in confusion and tried to translate the markings.

"1: 18?" he murmured after a minute.

Sweeping his gaze around and seeing nothing, Holmes allowed himself a moment to look as well. He spoke tightly, understanding immediately.

"Revelation 1:18," he said. "I am He that is liveth and was dead-"

"And behold am alive forevermore."

A sinister baritone finished the words, startling them. Holmes snapped his gun up again with a murderous expression. He recognized it at once.

"I warned you, Holmes." Blackwood's voice seemed to float around them. The three of them circled around each other trying to pinpoint its location while keeping aim at all angles. "I told you to accept that this was beyond your control. **You **led your lamb to slaughter."

Holmes' finger tightened on the trigger, the mention on Watson making his blood boil. "Show me your face and it will be the end of your world right now," he snarled.

Lestrade glanced sideways at him for a fleeting moment warningly. Holmes didn't even look his way.

Then suddenly Blackwood was behind them. "A gift for you," he hissed.

All of them whipped around and began firing. Bullets ricocheted off of wood walls but there was no sign of Blackwood. Frustrated, Holmes yanked the gun to point upright, knowing he needed to save bullets. He looked around frantically and started abruptly when he noticed the other end of the room.

Watson was there, bound to a large stone pillar. His wrists and ankles were tied together and a black hood covered his entire face.

His breath caught. Before he even thought about it, Holmes was running towards him as fast as he could.

In the next instant, the building began exploding around them. It was as if a bomb had gone off. He heard startled yells behind him and felt intense heat at his back, but when he turned to look he was knocked off his feet by a blast erupting at his side. He hit the ground hard with a groan.

Explosions fired from every direction one after the other. He curled into a ball, beginning to cover his head, and then suddenly jerked his eyes back upright. His heart leapt into his throat when he saw blasts shooting around Watson.

Holmes surged to his feet and began sprinting.

The two police officials began hightailing it out of the room as the debris and fire raged around them. Squinting through the smoke, Clark shouted the detective's name when he saw Holmes running towards the blasts.

Holmes didn't hear it. He couldn't hear anything except his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

* * *

Thick black clouds of smoke almost hid the entire pillar from view. Holmes' eyes stung and he flinched as splinters of debris assaulted his face. He could just barely make out Watson's form in front of him. He ripped at the flap of his tool pouch as he ran. Lockpicks and pins scattered in all directions and he stepped on them without hesitating while retrieving a small knife. He made it to Watson and began trying to free the other man's bonds.

Then the wall behind the pillar was exploding.

Holmes reacted instinctively, slicing quickly through where the ropes were attaching Watson to the pillar. He threw his arms around his friend and slammed them both to the ground using all of his weight, frantically tucked Watson's head underneath his own chin an attempt to keep it from striking the floor, and curled around the other man as fast as he could. He held on desperately to shield Watson while the debris pelted them from all directions.

It took several minutes for it to finally stop. For a moment all Holmes could do was lay there in disorientation. His head was throbbing, his heart was racing, and his ears were buzzing so deafeningly that he wondered if he would ever be able to hear anything around him again.

But amazingly, even through all that, the slightest sound from Watson was enough to jolt him right into focus.

Holmes scrambled off of his friend and savagely ripped the hood off of his face. Blue eyes squinted back up at him, red and watered with irritation, and when his friend whimpered he saw that Watson had also been gagged. Fury swirled through him like a raging storm but Holmes kept his hands and voice gentle.

"Hold on, Watson," he soothed as he deftly removed the gag. "I've got you." He had to maneuver his friend slightly in order to reach for where his wrists were still trapped behind his back. "I've got you."

His hands were shaking, making it a little difficult for Holmes' to free him. The moment he was loose Watson's arms flew around Holmes' back and clung hard enough to lift him right off of the floor a few inches. Holmes lost his balance and hurried to finish freeing his friend's ankles before righting himself.

Not caring if anyone was watching them, Holmes drew his friend into a close embrace.

"Alright, old chap," he murmured as he let Watson hold on. "You're alright now. You're alright."

Watson tried to bury his face in Holmes' shoulder as he whispered an ashamed apology so that it couldn't be heard. But the detective heard it anyway.

"I don't want to hear that again," he said firmly. "None of this was your fault, do you hear me?" When he got no response, he began forcing his friend up away from him. He felt Watson flinching in expectancy. "Watson, look at me."

He tried to lock their gazes but the other man kept his eyes stubbornly averted. Holmes tightened his grip ever so slightly.

"**Watson**," he persisted sternly. When his friend finally obeyed, the humiliation in his eyes made Holmes' heart clench. He softened his gaze and his expression. "Do you hear me?"

His friend blinked and swallowed hard. But he nodded. Holmes answered with a nod of his own. He ran a hand over Watson's forehead in a rare display of affection and then immediately tried to cover up the action.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" he asked. His face became pensive again. "Did he?"

Watson tried to speak but couldn't get any words out. He just shook his head. He backed slowly away from Holmes, trying to get his bearings. The detective surprised him by gripping both of his hands.

Come," he said, pulling them both to their feet. "We're getting you to a doctor anyway."

Holmes tried to act like the only reason to held his friend close to his side as they made their way through the rubble was to help Watson keep his balance.

He wasn't quite convincing enough. Watson tried to act like he didn't notice.


End file.
